


The Guns of Ishikawa

by rabbitprint



Category: Ghost in the Shell, Kingdom Hearts
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-07
Updated: 2007-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbitprint/pseuds/rabbitprint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the hunt to collect technology for the Organization, Lexaeus must come to terms with a partner whose sensibilities are entirely different than his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Guns of Ishikawa

It was not one of Xemnas's better ideas, in Lexaeus's opinion. And he had seen a lot of bad ones go by.

"Would you prefer that I pair lightning with _water_ instead?" Xemnas's chair swerved back and forth as he bounced his heel lightly against one of the wheeled legs. The Superior's attention seemed everywhere but on the discussion itself. It was stuffy in the man's office; Lexaeus thought about telling him to open a window and let the hurricane in.

"I would be lying if I said I wasn't hoping for a more compatible partner --"

"You'll need one of the newer members to take on the less diplomatic tasks, and you've already expressed a preference to not be given Axel again." Holding up a sleek, gloved hand, Xemnas ticked off the points with a ruthless patience. "Luxord is still assisting Zexion, and Demyx is not aggressive enough for this job. Also, Larxene is more familiar with the level of technology exhibited on this world, according to Zexion's estimations. She'll be your agent where the Dusks won't suffice. It's her or Marluxia," Xemnas added dangerously, when Lexaeus grimaced at the floor. "Take your pick."

Lexaeus sighed.

When the portal opened up and deposited them on the target world, Larxene was fast on his heels. She was always one of the more impetuous members of the Organization; he had never been paired directly with her before, but Zexion had, and Lexaeus always paid attention whenever the younger man came back looking singed.

Larxene was already investigating the side road they had landed on, making pleased noises in her throat as she ran a gloved hand over the railing separating the pavement from the canal below. A bridge ran across the narrow waterway, and the distant buzz of street vendors floated through the air. Rust painted the backs of the signs around them. They were lucky enough to have arrived at a neglected fork of the city; no accidental bystanders had to die.

Lexaeus stopped before they'd taken more than two steps towards the canal exit.

"Show me," he challenged, "why Xemnas had such confidence in assigning you to me."

Arching her eyebrows in mocking disbelief, Larxene paced around him. Her boots scraped on the pavement. "On my world," she teased, coming to a halt and leaning back against his hip, "we would drive machines known as automobiles home every day after work. The highways I had to take were particularly crowded. You used to be able to talk about your commute by the number of accidents you saw... 'I had a four-car drive this morning,' 'I had a two-car split.'" She shifted, settling her weight in implicit threat against him. "My best day was twenty-two, across six lanes and the other side of the median strip. Beat _that._"

With that, she snaked down one hand, idly fishing for the munny pouch that dangled from Lexaeus's fingers.

He did not push her away, but he thought about it.

Technology was not a thing Lexaeus was unfamiliar with, but they had wed magic to machine cleanly in the Garden, and he did not know precisely how the powers of this world operated. The earth was sluggish to his call, wormed through with cables and cords. The dirt was saturated with chemical runoff. It wasn't an impossible environment for him to tolerate -- underneath the layers of pollution beat the slow thrum of patient stone, and patience would reveal everything in the end.

A flying copter with the neat lettering of _Niihama Prefecture Police_ swerved overhead as they picked their way along the street, examining building numbers and clocks.

"When I was a little girl," Larxene offered breathily as propellers beat the air, "I used to hope that passing cars would hit me whenever I crossed the street."

"And now?" Somehow the stores had turned from grocery stalls into questionable posters of women with very little clothing. Lexaeus double-checked the map.

"Now?" Reaching over, Larxene plucked the laminated sheet out of his hand and turned it rightside-up. "I'm surprised that they don't."

Traveling as foreign investors explained away so much about their quirks. Their initial contact had been with a company called the Otsuka: a privately-owned business whose assets included twin connections to the criminal underground along with relatively good scientific equipment. Their illicit activities were coordinated by a smaller family known as the Ishikawa. The clan's trading mark was some kind of fallen pine tree; Lexaeus kept trying not to tilt his head to better reorient himself whenever he looked at it.

They introduced themselves in a series of polite formalities that revolved around the best way to present bribes without seeming too obvious about it. Their assigned contact -- a balding man called Yutaka, no additional name provided -- was waiting for them at the top of a grated stairwell, cupping the flame of a cigarette in his palms.

"Ah, Mister Five." He jiggled from foot to foot with eagerness, leaning forward in a deep bow. An orange blotch of sauce stained his tie. "Mister Six told me to expect you. Please. Come inside."

_Inside_ meant a descent into a grubby hallway. The stairs brought Lexaeus past rooms filled with tangled electrical cords, populated by bodies that had been buckled into chairs. Their skin was peeled away to reveal smoothly jointed metal underneath. Wires bristled from the backs of their necks.

Lexaeus followed his escort along the hallway, keenly aware of how frequently Larxene was lagging behind to peek into the siderooms. They filed together into a cramped meeting room that was largely taken up by a wide table which was littered with discarded cups and the keyboards of various programmers at work.

"European Union," one man muttered upon sizing up Lexaeus's height and coloration; Lexaeus arched a brow, wondering if he should be offended for an ethnicity he was not even sure existed. _World War Three_ was mentioned in the background. He ignored that too.

Confronted by the subject of machine enhancements, Lexaeus held up a hand to ward away the plugs being reeled out in expectant offering. "I will have to review the final agreement visually, since I have not been... changed. It's... against my religion," he explained swiftly, thinking through the blur of video reports he had seen that morning as he and Larxene had trudged along the stores.

"Ahhh," Yutaka nodded, and then -- as if he had dealt with a hundred of Lexaeus's type each day -- reeled the cords back up again and reached for a slender rectangular case. "_Fanatic._ Good, your type always pays well. And your companion?"

Larxene grinned wider, leaning forward to survey the men clicking away on their computer pads. Lexaeus shot her a weary glance.

"She's allergic."

The one convenient part about the world they'd landed on was that black leather jackets were somewhat in style, even with hoods; blending in with the local crowds wasn't as hard as it could be, but Larxene frowned and began to collect bits and pieces of other people's clothing just in case. They were introduced as foreigners, but their proficiency for the native language was remarked on, even as they were spoken to largely in a dialect that must have been what the dealers thought would be more appropriate. This one was slower for the magic to pick up -- a localization issue, Lexaeus had encountered it before -- and both he and Larxene fumbled.

The unfamiliarity only seemed to help their disguise. The Ishikawa clan was split into a collection of pale, machine-linked humans, and the horde that were considered their hired muscle. Once they seemed to understand that Larxene was his bodyguard -- a bizarre situation in Lexaeus's opinion, but Zexion had recommended the setup, and Lexaeus was inclined to listen to the other senior's advice -- all the thugs seemed to regard her in a wary light.

"Your friend." The negotiator he was working with in the afternoon was also a foreigner; both of them were meeting in supposedly neutral territory, with the guns of Ishikawa surrounding them. "She truly is not modified?"

Lexaeus found himself hoping that the conversation would not get any more detailed in ways that it should not. The Ishikawa chiefs had told him -- bluntly, at first, and then very politely after Larxene's knives and several thousand figures of local munny had joined the conversation -- that he was not to personally execute any contacts while in their territory. "How do you mean?"

"The sensors. They do not," and here the man made an awkward gesture of his hand. "She is not heavy. Perhaps, new bioceramic?"

A dozen answers fluttered through Lexaeus's head. He went with the safest. "No. She's just very good at what she does."

After the initial meetings were over, he exited the underground warehouse with its dozens of guns to find Larxene outside, perched on a bench as if she had no greater business than achieving a tan while consuming an ice cream sundae. There was an earphone wire leading up the left side of her neck, hooked into a black transmission case on her hip.

"They say that they have sensors that can read a person's _soul_," Larxene informed him with relish as he stood there, blinking at the sunlight. She sucked fudge off her thumb with a wet pop. "They say that they can _copy_ a person's soul, too, and stick it in a robot. That they can deepdive into other people's hearts and see what's there."

"I can see why Vexen wished to acquire the technology of this world, then," he rumbled. True enough to form, the scientist had been fussy over his research, refusing to divulge any of the details even as he'd pushed the other seniors to approve of his equipment request. Soul retainment answered that mystery sufficiently.

He wandered over to the bench and sat down on the half that was unoccupied by Larxene's feet.

She grinned down, lips sticky. "Want me to dive into _your_ soul?"

"No need," he reminded. The hour was just late enough that the worst of the noontime heat had begun to dissipate; around them, he could hear the idle chatter of workers changing shifts, families headed home for dinner. The air of the warehouse cloisters left his throat feeling raw, acid-scoured, and he caught himself thinking pathetically about the ice cream melting in Larxene's lap. "We both have jobs to conduct ourselves with. Don't forget that."

She brushed his concern away with a careless sniff. "I know, I know. You just keep on playing polite, while _I_ get to go have the _real_ fun."

With that, Larxene set aside the cup of ice cream -- on the far side of her body, he noticed sourly -- and dug out a magazine. Pages flapped against the breeze as she flipped through what looked like an aquarium promotional. _Go See the Bananafish!_ was plastered all over the cover, overlaying models of robotic dorsal fins. "On this world, they make machines in the shape of people, and people into machines. How do you think they have the confidence to do that? To turn themselves into robots, without worrying if they'll lose their hearts?" Sliding off the bench to toss the remnants of the ice cream in the nearest trash bin, Larxene added the magazine as an afterthought, jamming it in the slot despite the _Recycle!_ warning on the side. "Maybe by their definition, we're nothing more than robots too. Someone could download artificial data into us, and we'd get brainwashed, just like _that_."

"I don't think it's quite that easy," he observed, trying to ignore the relish with which she'd snapped her fingers. "But your risk assessment _is_ accurate. How much did you study?"

"I used to be a _person_ before I had an X in my name," she reminded him, rocking back and forth on her heels impatiently until he got to his feet. As he searched in his pocket for the train schedule, she bit his earlobe -- not in affection, but in warning, like an animal that was too sleepy to draw real blood.

She had to stand on her tiptoes in order to reach him. One of his arms snaked around her waist to support her automatically, pressing her to him in case she might slip.

He ignored the pain.

The next day, Yutaka presented them with a computer pad no larger than a piece of paper, and half as thick as Lexaeus's thumb. "These are the rival corporations whose resources can be tapped," he started brusquely, slurping down a mouthful of tea while he briefed them. "It does not hinder the needs of the Otsuka if you acquire such materials for your own government. Naturally, we will inspect your gains before releasing them to you officially -- for proper packaging and shipping, of course."

Lexaeus accepted the data tablet, scrutinizing the printed list of names and addresses before handing it over to Larxene with a nod. While he stayed behind to negotiate the initial list of equipment and trading fees, it was up to her to perform her portion of their assignment: scouting out the locations and marking off problem zones.

She was gone for a week.

She came back to their apartment bloody, not even trying to hide the stains on her face and coat. It was a miracle that none of the law enforcement had caught her midway. Lexaeus held back the temptation to swear when he saw her -- this world held a million recording cameras, each of which was dangerous. She could have been traced by them all.

Larxene showed no awareness of the risks she had taken. She peeled one of her gloves off, and then her coat, slow and luxurious. The blood left a smear along her wrist and hand; she lapped it clean, taking her time to get every inch.

"This world is _wonderful_," she gushed. Crimson had smeared itself over her lips, like a cat being messy with red cream. "You can take people apart in a _million_ different ways before they finally stop moving, and sometimes they don't even _scream_ until they realize you're not planning to put them back together..."

He fetched a towel grimly, wetting down a corner in the sink. She didn't resist as he spread her arms away from her sides. The water dribbled down her skin in cloudy trickles, leaving blurred outlines of her feet on the carpet, drawn in speckled rust.

As he traced the towel along her stomach, she spoke up suddenly. "_Marluxia_ doesn't stop me from having fun."

He paused. The corner of the towel was nestled in the hollow of her left hip; he regarded it steadily, seeing only curves of pale flesh and green terrycloth, a tousle of blonde hairs beside his hand. "I'm not Marluxia."

"_Too_ bad."

The venom in those words was his only warning; she twisted around in a sudden wrench of her muscles, aiming a knee for his face. He blocked automatically off his forearm. The force of her attack hummed against his bone. Another shift of her weight, and he ignored her next kick, taking it in a glancing strike off his ribs as he launched himself forward to tackle her against the ground.

She beat against him with her fists as he pinned her arms against her sides, absorbing the force of each of her attacks with a relentless silence. In terms of sheer physical power, he was more than able to shrug off her violence; _lightning and earth_, he thought, and wondered if maybe Xemnas's madness held a wisdom after all.

He rolled over and held her until she stopped laughing, her voice winding down from a broken-doll giggle into something softer, something more real, and then she slept.

* * *

They split several dozen cups of noodles and sweet-rice snacks over the next few weeks, holed up in their den of used furniture and steadily-growing boxes of machine supplies. The crates reeked of chemicals. Lexaeus didn't mind them, but Larxene wrinkled her nose, shooting him sidelong glances until finally she decided to take matters into her own hands, and cause trouble.

"Look at this," she announced one day, brandishing a container which held a fist-sized metal casing that had been split open, revealing silvery tubes inside. The preservation liquid sent an amber glow through the room. "This is someone's _liver._ How long do you think they'll last without it?"

Lexaeus barely spared her any attention. "Put it down, Larxene. You don't know who it's been."

She laughed and tucked the container under her arm as she slithered over him, poking her finger at his chest until he pulled off the monitor goggles, and allowed her to curl up on his lap.

They had to move a second time before their assignment was up; Yutaka had begun to wince and groan about costs of covering up _certain activities_, and Lexaeus dutifully handed out extra munny to pave the way. The Dusks brought back all manner of currency for them to use, in forms that he did not recognize: there were no gil pennies, no fol bills, but hundreds of plastic cards that scrolled numbers across their surface whenever he tipped them the right way. He stacked them up at random on the table, only stopping when the light of greed inched its way into Yutaka's eyes.

By their third apartment -- and first bulk transport off-world, lines of Dusks obediently ferrying off crates and packages -- Lexaeus finally felt secure enough to start exploring the limits of their available business options. Not all their acquisitions had to be violent, but there was always the possibility. So far, he had accepted Yutaka's recommendations for targets to strike a bargain with, but independent research was better than meekly accepting what he'd been told about the standards of the world they'd come to.

Larxene claimed his bed more and more often as stolen machinery overtook the apartment, boxes clustering up against the frames of their mattresses like starving peasants. At first, Lexaeus readily surrendered the space and napped on one of the chairs; then he woke up one night with her draped across his chest, head neatly tucked, mouth partially opened in small nighttime sighs.

_Bipolar reactions_, he thought groggily to himself as he stumbled back towards the cot, Larxene slung in his arms. Reciting facts kept him awake enough to move. _Air-to-surface lightning is a bipolar electrical discharge that occurs when the sky and the earth become sufficiently charged to form a connection. When the ionic circuit is closed, the visible lightning strike occurs._

There was more to the textbook definition, from what he remembered -- rising currents, sinking charges -- but Lexaeus was too busy sliding under the covers, cradling Larxene so that she could continue to dream undisturbed.

* * *

"Riskier," Yutaka acknowledged with a shrug. "But necessary for the quality of goods you are asking."

Lexaeus frowned at the schematics rippling across the meeting room screens. The Tanaka were a smaller, more volatile organization, but with advancements in what they claimed was reduction in a ghost-doppling effect. They also were heavily armed. "Do we know they're trustworthy?"

"The Tanaka..." Yutaka set aside his tablet and reached for another cigarette. He took his time lighting it, clearing his throat before taking a long drag. "The Tanaka are... not always friendly with the Otsuka..."

Massaging his temples with his fingers, Lexaeus scanned the blinking circles of data. "Guarantees. I won't advance on empty promises."

After all the hand-waving and fuss, Yutaka escorted him deeper into the underground warehouse, towards the segmented offices where the Ishikawa family formally conducted its work. There, Lexaeus got to listen to a long, methodical recitation of names as one of the clan heads walked him through their security procedure diagram. It looked like their trading mark, only with far more branches; labeled with a stark _Contract Fulfilled_ at one end, it bore more resemblance to a collapsing genealogy chart than a coherent negotiation strategy.

The man he was seated in front of had his eyes replaced with metal discs. Lexaeus tried not to think about how uncomfortable it was to speak to someone who didn't blink.

"Transfer variables here," Iemasa Ishikawa grunted as he sketched out another fork, "and delivery variables there. This diagram has been our family's philosophy for almost fifty years -- it will not lead you wrong," he tacked on with pride. His face turned away from the diagram, towards Lexaeus. With those blank, silver-coin eyes, Lexaeus could not tell exactly what Iemasa was looking at. "My great-grandfather's invention. Kaoru Ishikawa taught his children to use the model in processing information, and that has in turn passed down through the generations. We as his descendents have used it most effectively by reversing it, narrowing down each situation to minimum variables."

"And how do you manage that?"

Iemasa grinned. "With any force necessary, Mister Five."

"You have done your ancestor proud by such achievements in business," Lexaeus intoned, wondering at the irony of researchers and what their offspring could descend to. "But you haven't answered my question in full yet."

"Ehm." Iemasa coughed. His pen scratched out more branches on the tree before slashing through them aggressively, killing entire avenues of possibility with a single stroke. "It is sub-optimal. The Tanaka have never held a stable relationship with the Otsuka in the past. If you desire, we can provide you with additional backup, but our rates..."

Lexaeus waved the option away, recognizing the search for extra profit. "The protections I have now should suffice, thank you."

He had time to regret his decision later, when the bribes had coaxed the Tanaka delegate into meeting with him on the lowest floor of a narrow waterfront storehouse that doubled as a transfer vault. Five of the gang's heavies were stationed to his right; another pair stood on the left, monstrous hybrids of flesh and steel whose arms had been replaced by rods that transformed into flesh-colored blades, fanning out like homicidal peacocks.

Larxene shifted from foot to foot beside him, restless. The concentration of Darkness was more accessible on the docks, but just barely -- the Heartless had not fully infiltrated this world, though corruption lay everywhere, generated by the native inhabitants. When their scouting Dusks had been sent in for preliminary investigation, the Tanaka automated defense systems had taken them out as neatly as rivets punching through leather.

At the time, Lexaeus had attributed the caution to mere criminal paranoia. Now he understood why.

The lead Tanaka gave a toss of his head. Tattoos of numbers were printed along the sides of his neck in scrolling colors; the leather of his jacket had been stained a deep violet, and the color seemed to ripple under the lights. His eyes were masked by wide, mirrored shades.

Lexaeus cleared his throat. "I was led to believe that this gathering was to be performed with a maximum of two guards a piece -- "

"_Here_ are the monkeys which have gathered to pick fleas off the Otsuka's back." Drawling scorn as if Lexaeus had not even spoken, the Tanaka leader swaggered forward. His hands came up; he clapped in slow amusement, in time with the measured sarcasm of each word. "_Congratulations._ You have attracted the attention of at least one governmental branch, perhaps even as far as the Umibozu. I am afraid I must respectfully inform you that your worth as a trading partner is outweighed by the potential bounties on your heads. Please," he added, baring brown-stained teeth in a grin, "give my condolences to the Otsuka."

Larxene pushed forward; red laser-sighting dots instantly appeared on her body, scrolling up and down her torso like the idle finger of a lover. She stopped in place, fists clenched. Lexaeus gave a hasty glance towards the balcony ringing the meeting room -- several of the snipers were positioned up there, gleaming points in the gloom -- even as he attempted to piece together what magic he could glean from the residual Darkness.

The earth didn't even bother to respond.

"I _truly_ regret this," he dimly heard Larxene saying, with an obscene pleasure, "but my partner's negotiations are closed."

Like a thousand temple bells set to ring, the snipers fired. Bullets were everywhere; it felt like standing at the central mark of one of Xigbar's target practices and hoping not to be shot.

Lexaeus was already in motion. The precise machines that guided their enemies were more than capable of outmatching either of the Nobodies, and without his full strength, he did not have any desire to take them on headlong.

Forcing the Darkness to bend to his touch, Lexaeus ripped open the air and dove through it. He wasn't fast enough to go unharmed; one bullet ripped into his upper arm, leaving the muscles screaming. The sudden heat in his left bicep cooled as he passed through the dark corridor, and then resumed its harsh vengeance when he landed on solid ground.

Even as Larxene followed, he discovered that the effort at teleportation had only given them a short blink up to an empty balcony landing.

"Check for thermoptics!" he heard someone shout, and then a fresh stream of bullets shredded the negotiation tables where they had just been standing, sending splinters flying, a _chuff chuff_ of heavier artillery grinding.

They broke for the stairwell in hopes of cover, not bothering to argue. The cyborg men were fast, fueled by artificial speed -- but so was Larxene, and unlike them, she had spent the last few weeks practicing how to win such duels. They aimed for her head; she aimed for their joints, sacrificing Dusks in a living shield around her. Limbs flexed and swirled as they were torn into white confetti, eternally silent.

Living cries from Larxene's prey rose into the air as Lexaeus worked feverishly to pull himself up the flights of stairs. Slowly, the nearest source of stable earth was becoming aware of his presence; it had been neglected by magic and technology for so long that its spark had atrophied beneath currents of city-waste water. He dredged up enough grains to form an earthen skin around him, parrying unseen bullets that were guided by artificial control systems. Hovering at his side, his axe scraped along the railing; then it hummed as the impact of a round embedded itself against the metal and slammed the weapon against his leg.

The force left his bones aching. Darkness began to seep from the blade; when he glanced down at the weapon, he could see the crater left behind by the missile.

Then lightning exploded from the center of the stairwell, crawling up in livid ripples. Lexaeus felt it reach towards him where he was crouched on the uppermost landing; if energy summoned by a Nobody could have malice, could have emotion, then this would be it.

_I am earth itself,_ he thought quickly, tunneling his mind down towards patient layers of soil. The stink of ozone crisped his nose. Bulbs exploded overhead in showers of glass; wiring popped and snapped, and a shrill, strangled howl of something wishing it could die.

When it was over, the storehouse was eerily silent.

All the artificial lights in the building had been fried, leaving murky shadows from the afternoon light that trickled in. Lexaeus lifted his head. His bones still felt heavy with stone, shrouded with sleeping granite; for one moment, he couldn't tell how much time might have passed, and then he gathered his thoughts back into the frame of his living body.

One of the corpses was sizzling nicely in the corner, beginning to ooze a warning cloud of black smoke.

Bloodloss was leaving him nauseous. Finer control over the local elements would have let him sift silver out of sand, but none of the cleaner methods of patching up a wound seemed available. He spared enough time to verify that the bullet had only skimmed its mark -- painful, but not immediately life-threatening -- before reaching down to slide off his belt, winding it around the arm above the damaged muscle, and pulling it tight. The Ishikawa seemed to feel more secure when he demonstrated that he wore additional clothing beneath his jacket; it was the first time he appreciated their society's complicated business attire.

A Tanaka thug dangled over the stairwell landing; Larxene came into view near its flank. She played her fingers across the decorative stitching on the man's jacket -- _Pretend I Was One of Those Deaf-Mutes,_ Lexaeus glimpsed -- before stripping the corpse and pulling its jacket around her own shoulders. After she had finished, she flipped the body's legs over the railing, and watched it tumble down the lower stairs in a series of metal _thunks_.

"Security systems should also be dead," she informed him briskly. A stray spark danced off the bangs of her hair. "Internal ones are short-circuited as well. So much for backup power supplies and insulation, mmm? I think we've got ten minutes at most before someone shows up to investigate, though. _Maybe_ fifteen, if we're lucky."

"Next time," he told her, "we might at least attempt to be subtle."

She rolled her eyes and went back to fiddling with the buckles of her new coat.

Steering himself back on task, Lexaeus focused on the door. Even with the automated systems down, the hardlocks remained: manual safety bolts that refused to budge without the appropriate passkeys. He leaned against the metal, putting his back into it -- but whoever had designed the security must have assumed that creatures with greater-than-human strength would attempt to break in, and had structured the barrier appropriately.

"Can't get it open?" Larxene asked, darting her eyes towards the stairwell down; for once, her voice held nothing of challenge, only a practical, matter-of-fact demand for information.

"The most efficient route would be to channel a gateway inside." Even as he said the words, Lexaeus recognized the futility. When he'd opened a portal during the firefight, he had originally envisioned them appearing safely outside; trying a second teleport might throw them in midair, or worse.

He shook his head, resettling his hand on the front of the door. There was no convenient pair of handles -- only the slight depression that the keypad was placed into -- and even if there were, he could not grip them both with a wounded arm.

_Earth,_ he thought briefly again, like a prayer, and then closed his eyes.

His fingers sank into the metal like wet river clay. The forced compression of mass simmered heat through his gloves, making it feel as if he was holding fire. He pushed deeper, fighting for each fractional advance, until his palm stopped against the harder internal rods reinforcing the door.

These, he clenched in his grip.

They resisted his touch at first, and then obeyed with a molten ease. Steel puckered; the exertion sent a fresh wave of pain along his shoulders and into his aching left arm, and Lexaeus squinted against watering eyes that turned the world blurry and misshapen. With a harsh roar, he tore the door apart, the metal creaking and bowing as it was burst open.

"I'll be feeling that one tomorrow," he panted, slumping to the ground to catch his breath as Larxene advanced into the vault, checklist already in her hand.

That night when they returned back to the apartment, both stumbling, both exhausted, Lexaeus pretended not to notice when Larxene skimmed some of the painkillers that the Otsuka doctors had given him. She smelled like smoke, and the tang of gunpowder. He was just as bad.

They collapsed on one of the couches. Larxene sprawled across him, one leg thrown across his. She ran her hand up and down his stomach, fingers tracing the contours of his muscles, her pupils still dilated from adrenaline.

Lexaeus stayed awake long after her breathing had steadied out, staring up at the grime-laced ceiling. He tried to think about the Darkness, about Kingdom Hearts; about the politics of the Organization and the thousand thousand worlds that were left to be destroyed.

Instead, he found only the bone-deep weariness of a long day spent at work, and that was more than enough.

* * *

It was harder to hook up with vendors after that; the Ishikawas were not happy when they received the cleanup call, but they went through the routine of apologizing profusely for the trouble, until Lexaeus was satisfied that they were not part of the conspiracy. They, in turn, mostly accepted his explanation after he made up some justification about reducing the number of excess variables.

Even their contact started to hem and haw about polite terminations of service. Yutaka was not a brave man, and he ducked his head like a startled weasel whenever Lexaeus looked in his direction. Their avenues for barter dwindled to smaller and smaller clans, and then to nothing.

Then, one morning, Lexaeus entered the warehouse to find a cluster of technicians gathered around a wide monitor. At first he thought they were watching a transmitted sports event; then he noticed the grainy quality of the images along with a red recording blip in the corner of the screen. The audio was off. On the monitor, six blue spider-shaped robots were skating along a highway, adroitly dodging obstacles by flipping back and forth on their tiny wheels, moving with the fluidity of dancers. Iemasa was among the spectators, cheering with the rest.

A silent explosion rocked the camera, and then one of the machines skidded across the ground, taken out of the running.

"Footage of the tachikoma of Section Nine in action," Iemasa explained as Lexaeus pulled up a chair. "Every time our crews pick up activity, we gain significant insight that we can then apply to Otsuka's structural developments."

On the screens, the surviving machines were lining up and firing what looked like dart missiles. A sudden weight hiked itself on Lexaeus's shoulder. Larxene's mouth exhaled against his ear:

"I _want_ one."

"Later." Lexaeus slouched in his seat, forcing her to slide away. She recovered with a sniff, wandering over to join the crowd watching the machines pirouette in synch. He ignored her in favor of business. "What does this mean for our operation?"

Iemasa detached a plug from the back of his neck, offering it to one of the other technicians. The smile he turned upon Lexaeus seemed genuine. "If Section Nine is occupied with other targets for now, our work with you has successfully stayed off their radar. We may now resume business."

The news did much to perk up their contact. The next time Lexaeus met with Yutaka, the man was already hard at work preparing the revisions to their accounts. He had set up shop in one of the side offices, and had already performed one of the tidiest acts of littering that Lexaeus had ever seen: each used disposable cup was arranged on one of the tables along the side, organized by height, tea leaf residue, and number of discarded cigarette butts.

"A little lucky that you do not have cyberbrains after all," Yutaka observed, even as he was swiping their new ID cards through some sort of handheld device, causing it to beep green each time. "No ghost-hacking, no tracing on the system. No enhancement registrations. Truly, as you say," he crowed, "you are nobodies!"

Lexaeus tore himself away from fiddling with the bandage on his left arm. The doctors he had seen had cheerfully suggested replacing the entire arm with a prosthetic; it required a great deal of convincing to have them treat him normally. "Truly lucky," he was forced to agree, for the sake of appearances. The ENCOM system at the Bastion had been useful enough, but the more information that he was being exposed to on this world, the more Lexaeus wondered what the MCP might have become in their absence.

Then he leaned forward, placing one finger against the scrolling data on one of the table's screens. It stopped obediently, a few inches further than he'd wanted, and he dragged his fingertip vertically until the list reversed. "Wait. There."

Yutaka fidgeted. "Yes?"

"This 'Public Section 9' you keep mentioning. There's an Ishikawa that's listed on the task force. A relative of yours?"

There was a pause inscrutable enough to rival one of Xemnas's lectures; then Yutaka set down his ID device, reaching for a pack of cigarettes. "Relationships can be very complicated, Mister Five. Even with a business model in application. Your bodyguard seems particularly restless today," he added, still keeping his eyes turned politely towards the lighter in his hand. "I will have the details of your next job uploaded to your personal information unit shortly."

Lexaeus did not press further.

He climbed the stairs out of the underground warehouse and hunted Larxene down at one of the outdoor cafes. While it was not out of the ordinary to find her wandering the neighborhoods to alleviate boredom, Yutaka's words were making him wonder; they both had been given electronic tracking devices by the Otsuka, and there was a high chance that a monitored alert had been thrown without Lexaeus's awareness.

He ended up finding her drinking coffee at one of the local outdoor cafes -- an innocent enough pursuit, except that she was engaged in an animated conversation with a young man. The figure seemed less than dangerous at first glance: native coloration, no visible weapons or even modifications, and no signs of bloodshed between them.

The discussion broke off as Lexaeus got closer, before he could even hear more than the buzz of both voices. The stranger turned his head. Lexaeus had the impression of a boyish face, a dark set of eyes, and hair that looked like it needed a good trim. The white, long-sleeved shirt had a single orange fish icon on the front.

At first, it seemed as if the man would call out a greeting -- but then he closed his mouth, slipped his hands into his pockets, and walked silently away.

The crowd parted easily around him, and then the visitor was gone.

Lexaeus stood there squinting against the afternoon sun. The odd smile on the stranger's face lingered in his memory, but he wasn't sure why. As far as recollection served, the man had not resembled any of the members Lexaeus had parlayed with before; it must have been some hint in the expression, some sympathy or smugness that warned of dangerous knowledge.

Larxene's voice was pouting. "You drove him off."

"Be careful, and don't give away too much about our assignments." Wondering briefly if they were now surrounded by a thousand spy devices, Lexaeus decided to hope that the Ishikawa had already taken such matters into account. He stopped hunching his shoulders in preparation for a bullet. "Particularly not to inquiring visitors."

"He was _cute._" Larxene flicked a sugar packet in revenge. "He said he liked my jacket."

"Now I _know_ there's something wrong with him."

Larxene put on an expression of patient suffering. "We were talking _philosophy_. He said it was a rare person these days who can't be fooled into seeing nothing there." Tilting back her cup, she took one last swallow of her drink and lobbed the empty container in the direction of the trash. It bounced. "What's the news?"

Caught under the politely disapproving glare of the nearest pedestrian -- the cup had rolled across the sidewalk and against the man's foot -- Lexaeus decided to make peace by picking it up himself. "We've been asked to maintain a low profile for the time being," he answered when he was done, arranging himself in the chair opposite Larxene. "Once we finish building up more positive relations, the Ishikawa will stop acting as if we've forever tarnished the Otsuka's good name, and will introduce us back to connections that will allow us to finish collecting all the equipment we need."

"And?" Larxene did not look impressed. "Can I kill people yet?"

"No."

"Strategic intimidation is _very_ useful in building up proper respect, you know -- "

"_No._"

They moved on from the failed Tanaka deal to the Yamadera family, which was a welcome change; instead of brandishing weapons, the Yamaderas were soft-spoken to a fault, with few overt cybernetic modifications. Their emphasis on ritual formality forced Lexaeus into strange robes, with disastrously wide sleeves that he kept trying to keep from dunking in the endless cups of green tea that were exchanged every hour.

Larxene continued to wear her Deaf-Mute jacket; she said it attracted all _kinds_ of interesting conversation to her, conversation that Lexaeus wasn't entirely certain he wanted to know about.

"You're not exactly inconspicuous in these kinds of crowds either," she chided when he exited one Yamadera talk muttering darkly about the state of his bladder. "I'm blonde, but you're a giant. Lean down."

He let her feed him a riceball, the glutinous skin coming apart like a chrysalis, stretching in powdered chunks between his teeth and her fingers. A sesame seed slipped along his gums. He worked at it with his tongue. "Will that be a hindrance in our mission?"

"No." She swiped her thumb across the corner of his mouth. "I like that you cause problems too."

Stuck in the apartment during off-hours for security reasons -- as much to settle the Ishikawa sensibilities as for true safety, since Lexaeus had no local identity to compromise -- Lexaeus took up the task of educating himself in the native culture. Most of the magazines he had access too were of the entertainment variety, mixing televised programs with features on various computer games.

On the news monitors, people were ritually killing each other with what looked like swords. He was interested until the sales advertisements came on, and then he flicked the displays off.

* * *

Noodle cups eventually replaced themselves with microwaveable meat buns. Lexaeus's arm stopped aching in the rain.

Following Iemasa's advice proved itself solid. Now that they were using a more diplomatic approach, Lexaeus found their sea of underground contacts and interlinked families multiplying like ants. Each day, the lists of names and protocol requirements seemed to double, along with warnings about what could be considered a lethal insult. Word had apparently made its way around the underground, even if it hadn't hooked the law enforcement yet; everyone that he met was unerringly polite, though all arrangements were to be conducted with at least two Otsuka accountants to facilitate both sides.

The one advantage in Lexaeus's opinion to the change in affairs was the relaxed security on his position. While he did not travel frivolously across the country for fun, he did stretch his legs by walking up and down the streets, fetching his own supplies rather than having them delivered by a cheerfully smiling Otsuka representative. At times, he browsed stores. The city lights gleamed in a never-ending array around him as he crossed sidewalks in tune with traffic signals, watched overhead screens featuring singing cartoon hamsters, purchased a stick of rice globs while bathed in the shine of a building marked _Parlor Ishikawa_.

"This city is going to make me paranoid," he confided in Larxene later, after he had returned to the apartment and dropped two plastic bags at her feet. "It feels like there's a thousand conspiracies hanging just out of reach."

"That's because there _are_," she retorted, uncrossing her feet. She was perched on top of one of the counters in the kitchenette, examining a brace of knives that she'd looted off one of her last job. "This world has a vast web of information that neither of us can access. The net's _everywhere_, you know. Everyone's a part of it but us. Sound familiar?"

He tilted his head in curiosity at her before catching her reference; relinquishing the parallel with a shrug, he edged around her to flip on the switch for the coffeepot. "Where are you going tonight?"

"Have to do my duty to help elevate the level of the city's gang violence," she stated proudly. She sighted down one blade like a gun. "Nighttime falls, and the Savage Nymph must hunt."

He blocked her escape with a mug. "I'm not certain that inciting a state of emergency will help us any, Larxene. We are not here to confront the local police force. _Nor_," he emphasized as she pushed against him, "should we offend the Otsuka again."

She snorted. "Didn't anyone ever talk to you about storms? One bolt of lightning, and everyone looks at the sky to see what happened. Fifteen, and people start caring more about not getting hit." Wriggling under his arm, she pulled a nylon jumper's belt off a chair and snapped it around her hips. "Right now, it's _all_ about making sure that people want to stay out of bad weather."

"_Larxene._" The emphasis finally slowed her preparations; she tilted her face towards him, features going blank and empty, like a true Nobody. "Don't."

Her voice was very soft. "And why should I listen?"

"Please."

Blue eyes narrowed, but she slipped out the door without further complaint.

Surprisingly enough, the level of violence that Larxene chose to resume was less dramatic than he'd expected. She used a surgeon's touch with her cruelty this time, choosing to incite fear rather than leave unidentifiable bodies behind on principle. At first, Lexaeus wondered if the combination would function; then, when Yutaka did not complain and the enforced respect with which their business arrangements continued, he realized they were no longer seeing Larxene as a bodyguard, but as an assassin.

The irony amused him so much that he took her out for sushi that night with the rest of the Ishikawa.

As they were seated and various forms of alcohol were being passed around, he tried to study her covertly over the cups. Iemasa got excitedly drunk; his brother tried numerous advances in Larxene's direction, all of which were easily rebuffed. Larxene ordered extra crab, matched Iemasa drink for drink, and was still steady on her feet going home.

Her unnatural restraint alone should have been sufficient warning. If not that, then science, which held numerous laws about lightning finding an outlet.

After a week of curiosity, Lexaeus finally had his answer. The scouting trip to the Okawa dock had been a brilliant success; no unmarked guards had been spotted, and everything seemed in place for the next transaction. For months, Larxene had been allowing him to clean her off after jobs, patiently enduring his touch -- until one night, when she leaned down and bit the skin right next to the corner of his mouth.

He growled, wary of any teeth that seemed more interested in pain than pleasure. She didn't let go.

When he pulled away in warning -- though not fast enough that it might encourage her to tighten her jaw -- she followed him. Her weight sank down onto his lap, her knees spread onto the carpet with its freckled pattern of old stains. Her knives had been discarded on the couch, still in arm's reach; she disregarded them in favor of pushing his shoulders with empty hands, letting him yield bit by bit until he was lying on his back, staring up in dispassionate refusal.

Then she shifted against him, sliding her hips down in a roll. His breath hitched in his throat. Larxene's laugh was rich and mocking and familiar, as predatory as any of her hunting expeditions that he had witnessed.

As her tongue lapped along his ear, his fingers found the smooth curve of her ass and traced the muscles down to her leg, lightly enough that her body tightened in a shiver.

Then she moved from biting at his earlobe to kissing his mouth, or he might have been kissing _her_, and the nails of her fingers were raking through his scalp. She pulled at the zipper of his jacket; he tore at the button of his expensive business suit pants, trying to hold her tight against him even as the fabric ripped. Her breasts were soft against his chest.

When he tried to sit up with vague thoughts about rolling her over, she slammed the heel of her hand into his bullet wound. He saw white for a moment, body going rigid from pain; it was enough time for her to finish wrenching the last of his clothes down, rubbing her body against him in a hungry stretch. She fought with him every step of the way as he tried to thrust up and she kept pulling away, snapping her teeth near his neck just to see if he would stop her.

He didn't.

By the time she finally lowered her weight and allowed him to slide into her, Lexaeus had given up any attempts to wrestle back control.

She was louder than he was, blending soft hums with throaty moans, working herself on him until she reared back in triumph, and came.

* * *

She assaulted him again while he was busy trying to read the daily news reports as they were broadcast by goggle for the cyber-impaired. At first he tried to ignore her as she slid between his legs, both hands parting leather to find the zipper of his pants and work it open, tooth by metal tooth. Her weight pressed against his knees. The text scrolling across his eyes was simple enough to focus on, and a lack of reaction should have been enough to drive Larxene away.

Larxene persisted on nerves and tension. If there was anything that Lexaeus knew, it was how to remain steady.

But he couldn't help jerking when the heat of her mouth descended on him. Somehow, she had managed to work his pants down far enough that she'd been able to negotiate his undergarments, and now she was tracing her lips against bare flesh. The tip of her tongue worked delicately in steady flicks, teasing but not taking, until he couldn't stand it any longer and pulled her up towards him by a fistful of her coat.

* * *

Equilibrium settled in its own way after that -- business and recreation and research blending in seamlessly together, all limits found and accepted. Even the world they were on felt less threatening somehow, despite its technological horrors. Lexaeus started grabbing thick volumes of comics off the shelves when he went to get their groceries from the street marts. Sometimes, Larxene started reading stories aloud to him simply so she could start changing the plot around to suit her whim, teasing him whenever he accidentally picked up an erotic publication.

They spoke even less about matters off-world as their mission progressed. Their apartment was locked territory at night, filled by hisses and occasional groans. She cursed him frequently. At times, she chose languages that he did not recognize as words. The syllables rippled over his ears, cutting off to harsh pants as he jerked forward in hard thrusts, bracing his weight on one hand.

There was a simplicity to it all that Lexaeus could appreciate. He may not have cooperated well with Larxene back home, but there was a strange balance when it was just the two of them together. Their interaction was like one of the confused diagrams that he was always shown by Iemasa: complex variables narrowing down to the most basic influences, bare facts congealing into a single line. Possibilities branched forth to form an evolving cause-effect diagram of living -- hearts, souls, bodies tangling together to build an interlinked network of people.

Too, Lexaeus thought about the way the Ishikawa had splintered that same motif of their forefather, shredding down possibilities aggressively until only the most basic explanations were left, until meaning folded and unfolded like a diurnal flower.

He and Larxene were two individuals on a specific mission for their organization. He was a businessman. She was his guard. Anything more added unnecessary complexity.

At times during the night, he woke up and found himself wondering if this might have been all their mission truly entailed from the start: two individuals learning how to coexist in a world where they were isolated together, outsiders from a million interlaced hearts.

He became accustomed to the smell of Larxene on his jacket. Her sweat blended with his. During evenings when she was home, they took showers together, both of them helping each other with the mobile sprinkler before swapping turns in the cramped, high-walled tub.

She stole bites of dinner off his plate when they ordered take-out. He let her.

She writhed on his hand.

After missions which involved the risk of killing -- which, with Larxene, inevitably became _every_ mission if he let himself become distracted -- her nipples were always hard. After careful negotiation with two Saka-affiliated gunners, Lexaeus did not wait until they got home before he turned a corner suddenly and pulled her tight against him, her hips squirming against his groin as he traced tiny circles over her breasts, searching for small ridges in leather.

He kept her pinned with one arm wrapped around her body, slantwise across her chest. His fingers dug into her collarbone. He listened to the litany of swears as she told him how she would not give him the contempt she would offer a dungbeetle, how pitiful he was as an Organization senior. The energy of her skin radiated through her pants where he touched her, damp and hot.

He rocked his fingers between her legs until her smug insults broke off into a small, inarticulate cry, and she arched despite herself.

She enacted an unsurprising number of bruises in revenge when they returned to the apartment.

"We'll have to go back soon," he reminded her eventually, as they were celebrating their triumph over Saka's logistics experts. She had decided to experiment with a bottle of plum wine. The carpet was itching his back. "Back to the things that Never Were."

The heat of her legs straddled his shoulders. "Either shut up, or find something better to do with your mouth, Lexaeus."

He chose the second option.

But no amount of avoidance could put off the inevitable. All too soon, the stack of requisition contracts dwindled. They concluded their work with the Saka, and then the Onozuka, packaging up the egg-shaped storage containers that could fit a grown man entirely in stasis. They had procured everything on Vexen's list, and more. There was no longer any reason to stay.

Yutaka was at the warehouse to sign off their final departure. "It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Mister Five," the scrawny man twittered as he counted out the pile of chips and cards that Lexaeus unceremoniously dumped into his hands. "You will pass on the good word to the rest of your organization?"

"I will," Lexaeus promised absently, intending nothing of the sort. They had left enough chaos behind on this world that return visits would be twice as dangerous. Unless Xemnas had specific need, Lexaeus expected this particular doorway to stay closed forever.

The street overlooking the canal was just as abandoned as when they had first arrived.

As Lexaeus concentrated on the task of opening a gateway back to The World That Never Was, Larxene padded up next to him, clutching a waxed paper bag. She extracted a sugared donut and took a careful bite, running her tongue along her lips to lick off the powder. For once, she was wearing her normal jacket; the Deaf-Mute coat was absent.

After she had finished over half the pastry without sharing, he leaned over. "Is one of those for me?"

"Just so you know, I set fire to the apartment," she replied dreamily back.

Lexaeus allowed himself a wry smile.

With the quarters they had shared for months going up in flames, all proof of their intimacy together would be annihilated. Two Organization members had visited the Otsuka. Two Organization members were returning home -- and that's all he and Larxene would ever be in the future, with nothing lingering of the time spent pretending they were anything else. He understood it, had known it all along.

So, apparently, did she.

In some ways, things were better when they were simpler.

As he turned towards the portal, he thought he might be able to hear the sirens already.


End file.
